[ True enough, but beside the point and murmured as such, quiet, off-handed, while Emet-Selch goes on. Though he is, beyond a doubt, a peerless warrior, he is not so deft with his words, and he knows it. Battles, Viktor can win. Debates, not so much. Still, this matters. Ordinarily, one of Emet-Selch's other little dangled threads might've caught him, carried him off, leaving the larger topic to sit unresolved - Emet-Selch made the victor by default - but he does not permit that to happen this time. ]
Aht! [ He juts a finger forward, scolding. Then a second, and a third, as he makes his points. ] Only half right. And near a th-third wrong.
[ Though he does not let the green bottle go, he does allow Emet-Selch to grasp it. Viktor looses one hand, and as he so often does, uses it to help coax his words from his lungs, weaving sound into meaning with a flapping hand and wiggled fingers. ]
I ask, and you think of her, aye? You h-hear her a little, do you not? Perhaps not exact, but the voice that memory serves you. Close enough. [ He touches fingers to his thumb as he speaks, staring at his hand like it's helping him remember what he wishes to say. ] Each bottle, a purpose. Each soap slightly different from the others. The tink and clink of half-used bottles. Color cast by light through glass. The smell of all her tinctures, in sum, left on clothes and skin and- [ A pause, he's getting away from himself. Focus. ] What she said, it mattered to her, and then... it made sense and it mattered to you. Enough that you changed.
[ Grown tired of the cold clinging to his damp skin, Viktor shifts, sinking lower into the water as he unfolds one leg and lets it rest over Emet-Selch's thigh. The other, moved slightly to the side. ]
She is gone. Her soul cycled anew. But, here in this moment, you recall, and the she that she was and the you that you were are real. Remembered. Carried. That is why I ask. And because I want to know the name of the woman willful enough to change your mind. And because...
[ He leans a little closer, eyes on the foggy water now, unwilling to meet Emet-Selch's eye. ]
In the future. Five years, ten, maybe m-more, when we are done and the star is healed and we have friends visiting us at our little s-spring home in... Hm- in Thavnair, let's say. Maybe one happens to need use our facilities and they spy our absurd collection of little bottles and they- they decide to tease me for it. [ Another break, considering, one eye squinted shut. ] In which case it must be Alisaie or Estinien — then I will have a story to tell them, about the woman who changed your mind and then mine, as well. And she will be real again in that moment, too.
[ Viktor hazards tipping his mismatched eyes back up to meet Emet-Selch's gaze and then offers up the green bottle. ]
Here is your soap. Which is definitely not just soap, but the sequel to soap. Soap, p-part two.
no subject
[ True enough, but beside the point and murmured as such, quiet, off-handed, while Emet-Selch goes on. Though he is, beyond a doubt, a peerless warrior, he is not so deft with his words, and he knows it. Battles, Viktor can win. Debates, not so much. Still, this matters. Ordinarily, one of Emet-Selch's other little dangled threads might've caught him, carried him off, leaving the larger topic to sit unresolved - Emet-Selch made the victor by default - but he does not permit that to happen this time. ]
Aht! [ He juts a finger forward, scolding. Then a second, and a third, as he makes his points. ] Only half right. And near a th-third wrong.
[ Though he does not let the green bottle go, he does allow Emet-Selch to grasp it. Viktor looses one hand, and as he so often does, uses it to help coax his words from his lungs, weaving sound into meaning with a flapping hand and wiggled fingers. ]
I ask, and you think of her, aye? You h-hear her a little, do you not? Perhaps not exact, but the voice that memory serves you. Close enough. [ He touches fingers to his thumb as he speaks, staring at his hand like it's helping him remember what he wishes to say. ] Each bottle, a purpose. Each soap slightly different from the others. The tink and clink of half-used bottles. Color cast by light through glass. The smell of all her tinctures, in sum, left on clothes and skin and- [ A pause, he's getting away from himself. Focus. ] What she said, it mattered to her, and then... it made sense and it mattered to you. Enough that you changed.
[ Grown tired of the cold clinging to his damp skin, Viktor shifts, sinking lower into the water as he unfolds one leg and lets it rest over Emet-Selch's thigh. The other, moved slightly to the side. ]
She is gone. Her soul cycled anew. But, here in this moment, you recall, and the she that she was and the you that you were are real. Remembered. Carried. That is why I ask. And because I want to know the name of the woman willful enough to change your mind. And because...
[ He leans a little closer, eyes on the foggy water now, unwilling to meet Emet-Selch's eye. ]
In the future. Five years, ten, maybe m-more, when we are done and the star is healed and we have friends visiting us at our little s-spring home in... Hm- in Thavnair, let's say. Maybe one happens to need use our facilities and they spy our absurd collection of little bottles and they- they decide to tease me for it. [ Another break, considering, one eye squinted shut. ] In which case it must be Alisaie or Estinien — then I will have a story to tell them, about the woman who changed your mind and then mine, as well. And she will be real again in that moment, too.
[ Viktor hazards tipping his mismatched eyes back up to meet Emet-Selch's gaze and then offers up the green bottle. ]
Here is your soap. Which is definitely not just soap, but the sequel to soap. Soap, p-part two.